


incredible at handjobs and a 1560 on the SATs

by ships_to_sail



Series: S.C.H.S., Better than All the Rest [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Awkward Flirting, F/M, First Kiss, Light Angst, M/M, Party, Underage Drinking, of a sort, revenge porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:13:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/pseuds/ships_to_sail
Summary: Four strangers (sort of) picked to ride in a car, go to a party, and have their lives changed. It's time to find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real.It's The Barn Party;Or, one night, four ways
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/Rachel, Sebastien Raine/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Stevie Budd/Emir Kaplan, Theodore "Ted" Mullens/Alexis Rose
Series: S.C.H.S., Better than All the Rest [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1568809
Comments: 22
Kudos: 72





	1. Stevie

Stevie Budd comes from the kind of family that puts a lot of emotional stock in getting the right camo color palette for the hunting scenario at hand. She's seen her dad slap her uncle upside the head and tell him to change out of that "stupid fucking tan" more times than she can count. She's nine the first time she bags a turkey, twelve the first time she makes out with a boy behind the Schitt's Creek town sign, and eighteen the first time she meets someone she thinks might actually understand her. 

As long as she very diligently looks past the asymmetrical bangs, party pacifiers, and oddly placed cargo pockets, David Rose is someone who feels very familiar to Stevie. The first time they get high together, he looks at her with his brown-black eyes and tells her that he generally hates most people, but doesn't hate her yet, and she feels that echo in her heart like she wrote it there herself. She just nods, though, because what is she gonna say that doesn't sound super stupid? And then that Patrick kid shows up and oh my god David is so smitten she wants to throw up in her mouth a little only she doesn’t, actually, which is new. Only then Sebastien fucking Raine sticks his nose into Stevie’s life  _ again  _ in a way that gives her tension headaches. Her friendship with David feels so new, so unfamiliar, that she doesn’t push, though, and after she tries to warn him off, she spends the rest of the mornings glaring at him out of the corner of her eyes and staying as stoic as possible. 

She feels like a real asshole when she makes a bet with David about asking Patrick out and it blows up in her face, and she tries to get him to beg off the barn party for the rest of the week. But David just digs his heels in and says “it’s fine” over and over again until she wants to punch him because it is so very clearly not fine. But she’s also not going to be the one to bail, so she follows him back to the motel from school Friday with an extra flannel in her bag. It takes her approximately thirty seconds to change, and she spends the rest of the evening pregaming with a six pack of disgusting fruit coolers David begs off his sister. 

“Please tell me your party outfit doesn't consist of a slightly less dirty version of the same shirt you always wear.”

"What's that? I couldn't hear you over your fur shoulders."

"This is Alexander McQueen for Vogue," David says like he's explaining gravity. Stevie just stares at him with that blank look she gets when he talks fashion. He scoffs and adjusts his metal-plated lapels. There's a knock on the door and when David pulls it open Sebastien is standing there in a tight black polo and ripped jeans that make Stevie equally repulsed and, unfortunately, a little turned on. 

He pulls David in for a loud, wet kiss that makes her skin crawl before winking at her when he says, "Hey Stevie." And even though they've been there, done that, several times several years ago, Stevie wants to pull him away from David and push him back out into the night air and far away from this entire evening.

Inst ead, she nods and says, "Hey." She's downing the last wine cooler so she's got something to keep her mouth busy when she hears a car horn outside and Alexis squeals from the adjoining room. 

"Ride's here, David," she flounces into the room with Ted in tow and Stevie thinks she can already recognize the panic in Ted's eyes.

"I know that, Alexis," David hisses. 

"Hey, I'm Sebastien," he grabs Alexis's hand as she tries to slip past him out the door. He presses his lips to her knuckles and the kiss lasts just a second too long, David clearing his throat as Alexis finally pulls her hand away with a quick glance at Ted, who is staring at the floor. It's incredibly obvious that the only person who doesn't feel awkward at all is Sebastien. 

The car outside honks again and they all follow Alexis out the door, piling into Patrick's car until it is illegally full. David, Ted, and Sebastien all slide into the back seat while Alexis climbs onto Ted's lap, which leaves enough room for Stevie to slide into the front passenger's seat next to Rachel. 

And she knows about Rachel and Patrick because everyone knows about Rachel and Patrick, but she's pretty sure she heard they broke up at the end of the summer, so what they're doing together here is a bit of a mystery. Ted and Patrick make polite small-talk, but the tension from the hotel room follows them into Patrick's car, and Stevie can't help but notice that for all the points where Rachel is pressed up against Patrick, he's holding himself at all almost militaristic rigidity. 

It's the longest fifteen minute car ride of Stevie's life, and as soon as the car is in park they all jump out and scatter like buckshot. Ted immediately spots a group of his curling buddies and pulls Alexis towards them, and Sebastien wanders away with a kiss of the hand to David, holding up his camera like that's all the explanation he needs. Rachel slides out of the car and is waiting for Patrick at the driver's side before he can even get the door open. Stevie glances at David and can tell by the way that he's not pointedly looking at any of them that he definitely,  _ definitely  _ noticed. 

Patrick clears his throat. "I'm gonna go get a drink," and he heads off for the barn, pushing through the crowd of people while Rachel trails after him, calling his name softly. 

Stevie stands next to David, rocking back and forth on her heels a few times before exhaling forcefully. "So. Party shots?"

"Yes, please."

*

She loses track of David somewhere between the fourth party shot and the beer funnel. She hands it to him first, bright red plastic funnel attached to the thick tubing, and he takes it with two fingers like it might bite him. 

"What the hell is this."

"Beer funnel. You," she mimes holding it above her head, "and then just kind of open your throat."

"Well that I can do." And she raises her eyebrows and he shrugs. "Ladies first."

Bit in the amount of time it takes her to chug a single beer, David disappears into the crowd. So she takes another turn at the funnel and begins to wander, trying not to be too pissed that, somehow, even though she's come to this party with people this time, she's back to walking around by herself.

"Hey, don't I know you," the voice is coming above her and it takes her a second to locate it. When she does, she's startled to find a guy sitting in a tree, red solo cup in hand. She starts when he drops down next to her, landing softly and brushing his hands on his jeans as he stands.

"I don't know, do you know me?"

"You're that girl who kicked Jack Bryers in the balls so hard he had to have surgery."

Stevie shrugs and grimaces. "In my defense, he put his hand up my shirt without asking."

"And if he'd asked?" Stevie's mouth drops open and then she laughs, which makes the guy laugh. "I'm Emir."

"Stevie Budd," she says. "And for the record, if he'd asked, the answer would probably still have been a kick in the balls."

"I admire a woman who stands by her principles."

Stevie blushes. Stevie didn't really know she's the kind of girl who blushes at the kind of guy who hides in a tree, but there's something mischievous in the way Emir smiles at her. She takes a half step towards him and gestures to his cup. "Refill?"

He glances down at the dregs and swallows what's left. "You buying?"

"Girls drink free at Mutts."

"Well, then I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you-"

"You're actually an Amy?"

He busts out laughing. "No, I don't drink." He holds up his cup. "It's Coke. Not the fun kind, either," he cuts her off as she opens her mouth to crack wise. She snaps it shut.

"Fair enough," she says.

"But I'd love to walk you to the keg, if you don't mind."

"That's incredibly polite."

"Let's just say a little birdie told me you like when guys ask first."

"Your balls are safe with me, then," she hears herself saying. Her face flushes and she stares down into her drink. "I mean-"

"Stevie!"

She spins when she hears David call her name. He's got a streak of bright blue across the front of his sweater and his eyes are wide and bloodshot. He's unsteady on his feet and there's something tense in his body language, something that moves like desperation. "Hey, David! This is Emir."

"We need to leave." David is looking over his shoulder like he thinks he's being chased. "Like, now."

"What, why?"

"Have you seen my sister? Or Todd?"

"You mean Ted?"

"Sure, him to. We just need to go. Now!" He's practically shouting at her and his voice is shrill and Stevie has lived with her stepmother long enough to know the sound of a panic attack when she hears it.

"Okay, okay, yeah absolutely. Let's just go find Patrick and –"

"No!" The look on David's face makes Stevie's stomach drop through her shoes.

"What happened?"

"Nothing  _ happened _ ," he says with that same 'I'm fine' tone he's had all week, and that alone would be enough to make Stevie worry. "We just. I can't – we need to go now, without Patrick, without anyone."

"Patrick is our ride."

"So we'll walk," he's pulling at her now, pawing at her hands and walking backwards past her towards the far fields.

"David, it's like 11:30. It's gonna take us at least an hour to get home and that's if you don't, like, swoon along the way or something. Just, let me go grab Patrick and I'm sure he won't mind–"

"I'm leaving!" He spins on his heel and almost eats it, but then he's half walking/half stumbling towards the far distant line of trees and he's the only person she doesn't actually really hate and whatever happened he's clearly upset, so she shrugs at Emir and spits out a few words of vague apology as she jogs to catch up to David. She manages to loop her arm through his and redirect him back towards the road, so they can at least hitchhike like civilized people, when she hears tennis shoes smacking the ground beside her and Emir joins them.

"You shouldn't leave just because we are."

He shrugs, smiling at her, and out here, alone on the side of the road, sounds of the party slowly fading behind them, he seems shy, moreso than he had at the party. "Nah, no real reason to stay now."

"I'm sure there's another girl who'd love to have you hop out of a tree at her."

"Maybe. Didn't see a ton of other girls worth climbing for, though." And he's smiling sideways at her and there's a fire sitting low in her belly that Stevie hasn't felt in so long, it takes her a minute to recognize it.

"You're flirting with me?!"

"And doing a bang up job, apparently."

"No, you are. Very good flirting so far."

"Yeah, most flirting is best accomplished when the other person has to clarify that the flirting is actually taking place."

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm kind of flirting illiterate. Not enough practice to be fluent."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Ohmygod!" David half yells, half slurs, and Emir gives Stevie this look, lips pressed into a thin line and hands raised in surrender, that has her snorting in laughter as they follow David back towards town.

An hour later, when they're sitting against a fence post waiting for any car leaving the party to give them a ride the rest of the way, Emir slips his hand into Stevie's. She's got David's head in her lap and she's stroking his hairline as he sleeps, and there's a rock digging into her back, but even so. Emir's five fingers pressed against the back of her hand cements the night as one of the best parties she's ever drunkenly stumbled away from.


	2. Alexis

The car horn cuts through the air, sharp and rude, and Alexis pulls her lips off of Ted’s with a little ‘hmmph’. He runs his hands up and down her back, which is awesome but totally not helping her get off his lap.

“We better go, we don’t want to keep everybody waiting,” Ted says, his forehead pressed to hers as she digs her nails into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. 

“I don’t care about them,” she pouts, which makes Ted laugh, although Alexis doesn’t know why because she’s not kidding — she doesn’t care. She’d rather stay here and keep making out with Ted, even though she’d made David promise to go, even though she’d already confirmed with Patrick that he’d pick them up. 

“Come on, babe,” and he pecks her one more time before he starts to shift his hips, pushing up just enough to force her back and off his lap. Then he’s standing and straightening out his hair and clothes, though there’s nothing to fix because they didn’t even get to do anything.

“Ride’s here!” she calls to David, wiping at the edges of her lipstick as she slips her hand into Ted's and pulls him through the doorway.

Her brother is standing next to a knock-out in a black t-shirt who is being glared at by the plaid-wearing girl who's always around, and Alexis cannot wait to finally be at this fucking party.

"I know that, Alexis," her brother snipes at her and she's tempted to reach out and boop him on the nose as she squeezes past him and out the door. Only, she doesn't make it out the door because the vaguely Shane West looking dude just, like, grabs her hand and kisses it and. Okay. Sebastien is  _ kind of  _ a hot name, plus she owes David one from the time he'd made out with her friend Whitney behind her back. She feels Ted's eyes on her back, though, and David is making that pinched little pissed off face, so she pulls her hand back and shoos them all into Patrick's car.

The boys fill the backseat, so she slips into Ted's lap and spends the ride laughing at his jokes and pressing her body into him at every turn. By the time they get to the barn, she can feel him relax against her, feel the way his shoulders curve in and his chin tucks onto his shoulder, like he's trying to wrap her up with his body. Alexis likes the feeling, which makes it a double bummer that the literal second they pull up, Ted spots a few of his buddies standing around an orange sports cooler on a picnic table in the yard. 

Ted's feet hit the ground and he's pulling her towards the little bundle of people. Ted immediately starts passing out high fives, but Alexis crosses her arms over her chest and tries to remember to smile. This is a party! But, really, she kinda just wishes they were back at the hotel room, her knees bracketing his thighs on the bed.

"Everyone, this is Alexis! Alexis, these are my curling buddies. That's Mutt, and his girlfriend Tennessee, and Jason and his girlfriend Bethany."

"Hey," Alexis waves, wrist limp and smile small. "Mutt? You're, like, throwing this whole thing right?"

The teen pushes a set of greasy bangs back out of his eyes, and even with her hand in Ted's she notices the way his bicep flexes and hates herself a little. "That's me. Welcome to the barn." He passes her a red plastic cup half full of a deep red liquid and what looks like orange slices. And Alexis once drank rakija out of an actual book in a Serbian motorcycle club, but she's never had anything that smelled like  _ this _ .

"It's jungle punch," Ted says when he sees the look on her face. Like that's any kind of actual explanation. 

"It's a tradition," Tennessee says with a smile and a sip on her own cup, although her eyes don't leave Alexis. In fact, they're all just kind of sitting there, watching her, so she chuckles uncomfortably and takes a drink.

It's almost as vile as she expects, although the oranges help. "Mmmmm, yum," she smacks her lips together and tries not to cough as heat blooms through her chest. It's like a dam breaks, though, because suddenly the little group is buzzing, Ted and Mutt and Jason all talking about the upcoming tournament in Elmdale while Tennessee asks Alexis where she got her boots and Bethany wants to know how long the Rose family has been in town. She answers their questions the best she can without being, like, embarrassing, only name dropping like three celebrities in the process. David once told her that people think it's tacky when she does that. And David is an asshole but he's never lied to her about the gossip he hears. 

Alexis is at the bottom of her cup faster than she counts on, and Tennessee refills it without asking. Her hand has found it's way into Ted's, although they're still standing almost back to back talking to other people. She lets her head fall backwards on Ted's shoulder and it feels heavy, really heavy, but like nice heavy, a weight pulling her more into Ted's warm little shoulder. She and Ted both finish their second drinks at the same time.

"Hey big guy you ready for another one?" Ted moves to wrap his arms around her and she feels him grin against her cheek. 

"Big guy? That's new."

" _ That's  _ Fun Ted," Bethany says, and the group laughs.

"Fun Ted!" Ted practically shouts back, throwing up devil horns and sticking out his tongue.

"Oh my god, Ted!" He laughs and collapses against her. She feels her knees bend a bit under his weight, and she's grateful when Mutt swoops in to help Ted stand up straight.

"He's kind of a lightweight," Mutt says by way of apology.

"Apparently," Alexis says. They get Ted vertical again, and he wraps an arm around Alexis, grabbing her cup out of her hands and steering them towards the house.

"You said you wanted a refill!"Alexis manages to navigate through the crowd of people and into the far corner of the barn, where a stall has been cleared out and several kegs stand in a clump in the middle. Alexis deposits Ted in the corner, where he just keeps beaming at her with a giant grin, and taps the keg. The first two are nothing but foam, but the third spits out a steady stream of amber liquid and well. It can't be any worse than the jungle punch.

"You're really good at that," Ted says, admiration in his voice. Alexis smiles and shrugs.

"Thanks. Elijah Wood showed me how at this 25 under 25 party..." She tucks herself next to Ted and just kind of stops talking as Ted slips an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. Ted is warm besides her and smells like some kind of minty aftershave; there are twinkle lights strung through the rafters of the barn roof and the light is dim enough that everything just seems to kind of glow. Alexis takes a deep breath and feels like the world is finally going still around her. She’s used to being a whirlwind herself, a little tornado of stories and surprises, but the move to Schitt’s Creek had started the world around her spinning, and it makes her desperate for something stationary. It’s why she’s been spending so much time around Ted. Ted is stationary, and stable, and all of the things her family never ever is. Her mom still can’t get out of bed most days and her dad is just pretending like trying to own a motel is just a normal new career path people started, and David — David is always David. He’s been reluctantly looking out for her for their entire lives, but she’s never really felt like she understood 100% of what’s going through his head.

“...Daniel? Or Dustin? Anyway, I think his last name is a flower…”

The voices drift past the stall and catch Alexis’s attention. She opens her mouth to see if Ted heard and then realizes — his eyes are closed and he’s snoring softly. She smiles to herself, a small, protected thing, as she kisses his temple and leans him up against the corner of the stall, easing him down into a sitting position and tucking his jacket in around him. He looks even younger asleep, and Alexis wants to put him in a tower and build a moat around him and just do something to protect his adorable little face. Which is an entirely strange feeling for Alexis, and one she doesn’t have the energy to look at too closely. 

Instead, she follows the voices she’d heard out of the stall and towards the center of the barn, where a makeshift dance floor is throbbing with what seems like half of the high school student body. She tries to wade into the mass of bodies, but it’s just too solid, so she floats along the outside and tries to keep her ears perked for another mention of her brother. She’s been to enough parties with David to know that catching his name on the wind could either be really good or really, really bad. 

“...there were, like, dozens of them.”

“Completely naked?”

The group of girls is standing with their backs to Alexis, crowded towards one another and speaking almost low enough that the music covered what they were saying. Luckily, Alexis has been ‘overhearing’ conversations at her parents party since she was a toddler. She loosened up her joints a little more and prepared to slur her words, stumbling into one of the blondes in the group with a loud shriek.

“Ohmygod hiiiii!” She wrapped this strange girl in a hug, not missing the weirded out look she shares with her friends. “Who’re we talking about?”

“Um, what?”

“I heard someone say naked!” Alexis throws her arms over her head and does a little shimmy. The girls look back and forth between each other like it’s some state secret they’re guarding. Alexis keeps going. “Oh come onnnn, what’s the gossip?” The girl she’s still got one arm slung around looks at the hay loft but shrugs Alexis’ arm off of her.

“I don’t know,” she says warily, sharing a look with her friends. “I just heard that Sebastien Raine found a new friend.” 

The name pings in Alexis’s brain and she feels her stomach drop. “Oh yeah? Is that, like, a big deal or something?”

“Or something,” one of the other girls says, and then they’re all chuckling in a way Alexis doesn’t like and walking away, forming a new group as soon as they’re half a dozen feet from Alexis. 

Alexis looks at the hayloft and takes a deep breath, trying to steel her nerves as she makes her way to the steeply pitched wooden steps. In the past, she’s had to do everything from pull David off his math teacher to clean the vomit out of his hair — and he’s had to do even worse for her — so she’s prepared for whatever end of the spectrum is awaiting her. 

What she isn’t ready for is no David. He isn’t in the hayloft, and the more she asks around, the more she can’t find a single person who has seen him in person. 

Because, the more she asks around, the more she finds people who  _ have  _ seen her brother, every naked inch of him, spread out on a series of homemade quilts surrounded by tall prairies grasses, or tucked into the bed of an old pickup truck, or sitting on a diamond carpet that sounds suspiciously like the ones in the motel guest rooms. She hears them described over and over, bits and pieces from dozens of different people, like apparently everyone in the fucking hayloft has seen these pictures. And Alexis wants to throw up at the same time that she wants to punch everyone in the face and she can’t find David or Sebastien but even though Alexis has never punched a human being, she’s egged plenty of guys into punching people for her and she really,  _ really  _ wants to make that happen, like, now. 

“Ted! Ted, get up, we need to find David.”

“‘Sthat?” 

“David. We need to find him.”

“Okay, big guy,” and bless Ted, he really does do his best to get to his feet, but once he’s there, it's pretty clear that walking isn’t going to be in his wheelhouse for a bit. So Alexis corrals him back out front and parks him with Mutt, who is still manning the jungle punch. Tennessee, she notices, is about as good to go as Ted is.

“Will you just watch him while I find my brother?”

“Tall-ish guy? Dark eyebrows, lots of pacifiers?”

“Yeah, yes, that’s him.”

“He’s gone. Saw him marching off, like, twenty minutes ago with that Stevie girl and some other guy.”

“Oh. Um. Okay,” Alexis begins to chew on her lower lip and can’t decide between going after him and trying to figure out exactly what happened, and staying put and letting the night cool everything off a bit.

“You’re more than welcome to pull up some trunk,” Mutt says, gesturing to the tree-trunk bench he’s currently perching on. She holds up a hand.

“Thanks. But. I should probably find Patrick and get Ted home.”

“Just forget it, Rachel!”

As if speaking his name summons him, Patrick Brewer comes charging out from around the far side of the barn, Rachel chasing after him, her face twisted into a mask of emotion that Alexis recognizes but can’t pick apart fast enough, the two of them practically running across the expanse of grass in front of their car.

“You can’t just bolt, Pat!”

“I have to go.”

“What about the rest of us? You’re our ride!”

“What about it, Rachel? There are a million people here who love you, get them to take you.” He’s throwing open the door to the driver’s side door when he catches Alexis’s eye and stutters to a stop. He opens and closes his mouth a few times like a fish before he shrugs and his eyes look sad. He slides into the car and backs out of the driveway and Alexis just looks back and forth between Rachel and the retreating tail-lights.

“You were saying?” Mutt asks quietly, the edges of a laugh in his voice. Alexis stares at him and is getting ready to say something snarky when she realizes — she really doesn’t have anything. So instead, she shoos Mutt over and sits down next to him, pulling Ted’s head down into her lap and playing with his hair while Mutt slips another cup of jungle punch into her hand. 

She clicks her cup against Mutt’s and takes a long drink. What the hell? 

She clearly isn’t going anywhere any time soon.


	3. Patrick

From the moment he turns the key in the ignition and snaps it off the key ring, he knows the night isn’t going to go like he expects. He sits there for a second, just kind of staring at his key chain, which is now clenched in his fist instead of actually attached to his keys. He takes a deep breath through his nose and tosses it into the cup holder, easing his car into reverse and making the five minute drive to Rachel’s house without seeing a second of the road. He could probably make this drive in his sleep, with his eyes closed, walking backwards in a blizzard, but that familiarity did nothing to ease the twist in his gut — in fact, it makes it worse, makes his stomach feel like it’s sinking through his feet. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t be doing this anymore, and here he was not a month later, back on his same old bullshit. Rachel was right.

Rachel is out the door and down the driveway before he even has to honk. She’s always been like that, ready to bolt the first second he shows up, like she sits in the living room and watches for him out of the window. Patrick used to think it was just because she’s super polite, but now something about it makes him feel guilty. She leans over to kiss him on the cheek before doing his seat belt, and when he pulls away confusion paints her face.

“Hey,” she says, hesitant.

“Hey!” His voice is high and sounds too loud in the small car. He’s being an asshole, and he knows it. He’s the one who said it wouldn’t be a problem to give her a ride, who said he was fine being ‘just friends’ even as she bit her lip and looked at him in a way that was far more than friendly. He’d had so many moments when he could’ve pulled the plug on this whole fucking thing, and he hadn’t. So it was his own fault, and he tried to smile a genuine smile through it. “You ready for the barn party?”

“I was born ready for beer pong and Fun Ted.”

That makes Patrick laugh, a genuine laugh, because Rachel has always been able to make him laugh. Patrick doesn’t necessarily think of himself as a funny person, and he’s drawn to people who can bring that to the world. She relaxes into the passenger seat and for a few brief moments, it’s nice. “Red Dirt Road” plays on the radio and the breeze through the windows is cool with that first hint of autumn. Rachel hums along with the melody and he sings a few snatches of lyrics and she smiles at him and it’s comfortable. The setting sun is throwing fire into the sky, and Patrick squeezes his eyes shut at a stop light, doing that thing where he tries to imprint this moment on all five of his senses, so he can pull it up later when he needs a reminder that life can be like this. 

Patrick pulls into the motel parking lot and honks twice. It takes a few seconds before the door opens, and another few after that before Alexis leads the way, Ted trailing behind her, followed by Sebastien, David, and Stevie. Patrick’s eye twitches when he sees Sebastien, but he smiles at Ted as he slides behind Patrick’s seat.

“Hey guys,” Patrick says. They begin to bicker about who is going to sit where, and he fiddles with the guitar pick on his now busted key ring while things get settled. He doesn’t love that Alexis is going to have to lap-sit — he can’t really afford a ticket, and besides it’s not really all that safe — but then Stevie slides into the front and Rachel practically has to sit in  _ his  _ lap and, yeah. There’s no other way it’s going to work. He checks his rearview mirror, as he pulls out, and meets David’s eye for the smallest second. He’s leaning into Sebastien so he doesn’t lean on Ted, and Sebastien is absentmindedly running his finger along the shell of his ear. That’s all Patrick can manage to see, actually, is that one singler finger keeping a line of contact along the thin, pale skin barely visible from the ends of David’s layered hair. 

It fills the entirety of his vision, so much so that he has to slam on his brakes when someone pulls out directly behind them in the motel parking lot. Everyone gives a little yell, and he apologizes meekly as he triple checks that he’s clear before he pulls out of the lot and onto the road to Mutt’s. He notices that Sebastien’s hand has left David’s ear, though, which makes him feel better until he realizes that hand could be in a dozen other places now, which makes his face feel hot.

Parking at the barn, he feels like he might pass out. The air in the car was too warm, too full of chatter and people and Sebastien-fucking-Raine. The minute the car stops, though, Ted pulls Alexis towards Mutt and the jungle punch and Sebastien disappears into the crowd without a word. He tries not to watch David watch Sebastien, but it’s a failed effort. 

"I'm gonna go get a drink," he says stiffly. He's heading towards the barn before anyone tries to stop him, although he hears Rachel calling his name. He doesn't stop moving until he reaches the far back stall where Mutt always drops the kegs. He grabs a red cup and slips a $5 into the vase beside the stack. They're early enough in the night that the beer is still cold, but late enough that Patrick doesn't have to be the one to actually tap the keg. He pours a full cup and downs half of it, refilling again before he moves out of the way of the forming line. 

His stomach hurts already, but he ignores it and knocks back another huge gulp of beer. He burps into his hand and Rachel snorts in laughter, having caught up to him and grabbed a beer of her own.

"Pong," she asks? There's only one other pair at the table and Patrick can tell from the backwards trucker hat that it's Austin, who he's run the table on at the last two barn parties. Austin groans loudly as Patrick steps up to the table, and they spend the next 45 minutes talking a disgusting amount of trash as Patrick progresses into a pleasant state of tipsiness. When they finish the game, Patrick and Rachel are up by three cups, but Patrick has to piss and doesn’t really feel like playing another, so they cede control to Austin and take a rain-check.

After the bathroom, Patrick wanders off into the crowd. He sees Rachel at the keg and waves to her but doesn’t go any closer. The crowd on the dance floor is getting massive, and it’s making him feel claustrophobic, so he heads to the hayloft, where the crowd is thinner. He’s just stepped off the ladder, though, when a flash of black catches his eye and he sees Sebastien Raine sitting on a bale of hay against the near wall, cuddling up to a brunette girl Patrick doesn’t recognize. He’s got enough alcohol in his system that he can’t stop his fists from clenching and his mouth from twisting up into a sneer, and he turns to go before he gets himself in trouble.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” There’s something about the way he says it that’s got the hairs on Patrick’s neck standing up. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to open a door he might not be able to kick closed again. 

But then he hears a voice he doesn’t recognize say, “is that a birthmark?” And his head is spinning on his neck and he watches as the girl, a brunette in a bright colored cardigan and baby doll dress, passes a digital camera back to Sebastien. And it’s dark enough in the loft that Patrick can just make out the digital display, can just see the dark slash of a familiar set of eyebrows. 

_ ‘He needs my help on a project,’  _ he hears David’s voice in his head and a cold chill runs up his spine. He marches across the short distance between the ladder well and the hay bales against the near wall, grabbing the camera out of the girls hand. He doesn’t notice that the strap is still wrapped around Sebastien’s wrist, though, so it jerks short and drops into the space between them instead.

“What the hell?!” Sebastien looks at him with a face warring between shock and anger, and Patrick immediately takes a step back and drops his hands.

“Sorry, I just—you can’t— what are those?”

Sebastien takes the strap off his wrist and cradles the camera into his chest, looking at Patrick warily. “Just a project I’m working on. A portfolio. For art school.”

“And did you— you can’t just fucking — does he know you’re doing this?”

“How is this your business, dude?” Anger is slowly replacing whatever surprise origianlly caught Sebastien off guard. 

“You can’t just fucking do that, Seb,” Patrick says, using the nickname that had followed the other boy through grade school.

“Fuck off, Pat. Last I checked, they’re my pictures, so I can show them to whoever I damn well please. In fact,” Sebastien holds up the camera and raises his voice. “Free showing. Early access to the newest exhibit from Sebastien Raine.” His voice is ugly, and bitter, and Patrick can feel the muscles in his shoulders and forearm tensing, hesitates for a split second before he slaps the camera out of Sebastien’s hand and onto the hay.

The crowd in the loft is watching them now, and Patrick holds his breath as Sebastien makes a choked sound and bends to grab the camera, turning it over and over in his hands, his fingers checking nooks and crannies for breaks. He’s muttering “I’ll fucking kill you,” over and over again and Patrick knows that he’s fucked up big time, especially if he’s actually done damage to Sebastien’s camera. 

“I — I’m sorry,” he says, strangled, and turns to go, only there’s someone blocking his way. Someone just standing at the top of the ladder well, watching them. Someone with black eyebrows and blacker eyes and stupid fur shoulders who, apparently, isn’t breathing. “David,” Patrick whispers, and saying his name shatters the spell.

David waves his hands through the air. “Whatever,” and David is hurrying back down the ladder, Patrick following him, but no matter how fast he goes David is setting the pace. By the time the taller boy clears out and Patrick’s feet are on the ground, he’s out of range and Patrick has to chase after him. 

For the first time maybe ever, Patrick is thankful for a giant crowd of people. The mass of bodies slows David down enough that Patrick is able to reach out and grab the hem of his sweater, pulling him up short until he can slip a hand around his bicep and drag him to the side of the barn and down to an empty corner stall, as far away as they can get from the crowd in a barn full of half their high school.

David wrenches out of Patrick’s grip with an angry sound, glaring at him when he turns, backing up until he’s wedged himself into the corner of the room. His eyes are wide and red and Patrick can’t tell if he’s drunk or been crying or both. He’s got an almost manic amount of energy coming off of him and Patrick is reminded of a cornered animal. The last thing he wants to do is scare David, so he backs up into the opposite corner and puts his hands into his pockets. 

“What did you see?”

The question hangs in the air for so long, Patrick has half convinced himself he didn’t speak at all. 

“Enough.” The word punches the air out of Patrick’s lungs, because he knows what it means. It means David saw everything.

“Sebastien is an asshole.”

David shrugs a single shoulder and pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his fingers. “They’re his pictures.”

“But it's your body.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“This is bullshit, David. What he did was wrong.”

“It’s whatever!”

“Stop saying that!”

“It’s not anything worse than anyone else has ever done! It’s, like, seriously fine.” David throws up his hands like he’s explaining to Patrick that the sky is blue and the Facebook pictures flash through Patrick’s mind, a young David with lonely eyes in a crowd full of people. 

“You really think that, don’t you?” Patrick’s voice is low, and it seems to catch David off guard, like he’d been so prepared to yell that Patrick’s calm doesn’t give him anything to work with. 

“Think  _ what _ ?”

“That what he did was ‘fine’. That you don’t deserve to be pissed off for that  _ totally disgusting thing  _ he just did.” Patrick uses his voice to drive the point home, but David just scoffs and even in the dim light Patrick can see him roll his eyes.

“‘Deserve’.”

“Yes, David. Deserve.” Patrick takes a step towards him and can’t keep the pleading out of his voice. “You deserve better.”

“What do you know about what I deserve?! You don’t know me! Why do you care so much anyway?! Who even are you, Mr. Always Nice to Everyone Guy?” David is shouting at him, moving between him and the corner in a frenetic little pace, and Patrick’s rational brain knows that the way David is reacting right now isn’t proportional. But Patrick’s rational brain also fucked off the minute he slapped Sebastien’s camera to the ground, and that was the question, wasn’t it. 

Why did he care? Patrick was a nice guy; he liked being a nice guy, made a point of making himself known as a kind person. But this — he’s never gotten so angry he’d almost hit a person,  _ had  _ hit someone else’s property like that. He tries to imagine if it were Rachel in those pictures, and yeah, okay. He would have done it then, too. But if it had been Bethany? Or Jessica? Or any of the other girls he was friends with? Well, he’d been pissed at Sebastien on their behalf, too, but nothing that made his body feel like it was acting independent of any shred of common sense. 

“I don’t know.” The words are out and he can’t take them back but they get David to stop moving.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Why I care. So much. But — but I do care. You shouldn’t let - you don’t - people don’t get to just treat you like that.” Patrick’s words tangle on his tongue and it’s either the beer or the nerves or the excess adrenaline because he can’t get the sentence coming out of his mouth to mean the same thing going on in his head.

David is just staring at him now, his black eyes tracing Patrick’s face like he’s looking for an answer, and it’s beautiful to watch because David Rose’s face speaks a language all it’s own.

“I’m used to people treating me however they want.” The admission makes Patrick’s heart stop in his chest and he can’t breathe but he wants to take that small, sad voice David just used and banish it to the ends of the Earth.

“You need better people, then.” 

Patrick means it in a friends way. He means that David needs better friends, needs better people around him who know that you don’t treat people like objects, like things you own. That’s all he means. 

But he doesn’t move when David takes a step towards him, doesn’t move when his hands come up to cup his cheeks and his lips are inching in towards Patrick’s, doesn’t move as David’s lips press against his, soft and warm and a little salty. He doesn’t move, and inside his chest his heart won’t stop trying to beat through his rib cage, his brain won’t stop trying to imprint this moment in the halls of his memory.

He doesn’t move until he hears the small, choked noise behind him and he knows, knows before David’s head rockets up, before his eyes go wide and he can practically see her ginger hair reflected in the whites of his eyes, that Rachel is behind them. Has been, for long enough. 

David stammers and stutters out something that sounds like a ‘sorry’ but then he’s gone, rushing out the door. He crashes into someone carrying an entire tray of party shots, spilling bright blue jello down the front of his sweater, and even that isn’t enough to get him to stop. He opens his mouth to call after David, but sees the look on Rachel’s face and his voice dies in his throat. 

He’s such a giant, unforgivable piece of shit. He’s been so fucking angry at Sebastien, so fucking busy thinking about and worrying about and  _ kissing  _ David Rose that he completely forgot. He can see the questions on Rachel’s face, can see the way her eyes are looking at him like he’s a puzzle with an extra piece and she can’t reconcile how to fit it together. And his stomach is churning and he can’t catch his breath and the party is still  _ so fucking loud  _ that he has to go. He has to find David, has to sleep it off, has to get away from the way Rachel is looking at him.

So he runs. Like a goddamn coward, even as Rachel chases him across the yard, as she reminds him he’s their ride, begs him to just take her home. He brushes her off and yells words he won’t remember later and then he’s driving and — not for the first time in his life, realizing that Schitt’s Creek isn’t a big enough town to outrun any of his problems, and there’s nowhere left for him to go. 


	4. David

"What's that? I couldn't hear you over the fur on your shoulders."

David pulls on the edge of his Alexander McQueen jacket and scoffs, trying not to let a little bit of hurt show on his face. Stevie has already finished five of the six watermelon coolers, and he's trying not to be pissed about that, and pissed about the sweater, and pissed about the fact that Patrick is going to be the one giving them a ride to this party and Sebastien was forty-five minutes late. Again.

He hears a honk as Patrick pulls into the parking lot, and Alexis's shrill voice cuts through the air.

"Ride’s here, David!" Like he doesn't know. Like he's not more aware than anyone.

"I know that, Alexis," he hisses back, and she flounces through the room like this whole thing wasn’t her fucking idea. Ted's face is a mixture of fear and apprehension when Sebastian reaches out and plucks Alexis's hand out of the air, and David can see it on Alexis's face that she's considering potentially making out with this guy at some point along the line. It wouldn't be the first time, but he'd thought she actually liked Ted. He clears his throat and gives her a disgusted little face because he  _ knows her _ and she pulls her hand back, looking the smallest bit guilty. 

She leads the way out the door, and then they're bickering about seats like actual children and it takes forever before he's tucked between Sebastien and Ted. Which should be nice, considering that Sebastien is doing that thing to his ear that makes him shiver. But he catches Patrick's eye, watching them, and they almost get in a wreck he's so bent out of shape about it. Which makes Davis feel… something he doesn't like, even as Sebastien's hand weaves its way into the short hairs at the back of David's neck instead.

Luckily the drive to Mutt's is short, and by the time they're parking, David's only regretting about seventy percent of the night so far. Ted immediately tugs Alexis halfway across the lawn, towards a group of Ted's buddies, and Alexis looks a little shy as she crosses her arms and joins the circle. David's tempted to yell something to her, something comforting, or something snarky, or maybe a little bit of both, but then Sebastien is ducking out and he's not actually saying good-bye, just kind of kissing his hand to David and moving into the crowd and David's opening his mouth to talk but Sebastien is also gone and it's just David and Stevie and Patrick and Rachel and this whole funking thing is just so goddamn awkward that David wants to die.

"I'm gonna go get a drink," Patrick says, and then he's off across the yard and Rachel is trailing after him, literally calling his name, and David reminds himself for the one millionth time that all of that is something he doesn’t have any business getting into. Stevie walks up next to him and takes a deep breath.

“Party shots?” she asks.

“Yes, please.”

The line for party shots is longer than David anticipates, considering there aren't that many people at the party yet, so he grabs four and hands two to Stevie. The girl behind them makes a little noise like he’s not supposed to be sharing and he just glares at her over his shoulder before they disappear into the crowd. The party shots are delicious, cherry and grape, and before David knows it he’s sending Stevie back for more while he bounces from foot to foot in the corner. There is a dance group forming and he thinks for a little bit about joining in, but he’s going to need to be way more drunk first. Stevie reappears and David takes the shots she hands him back-to-back. They settle in his stomach and he’s feeling warm, butterflies humming just under his skin. It's his favorite feeling, and he tries to say there as long as possible, knowing that eventually he’s going to cross the line into sloppy, and say or do something to make everyone hate him. 

“Let’s dance,” he yells in Stevie’s ear.

“Let’s not! Come on, let’s go find a game.”

“What, like a carnival?”

“Better!”

She grabs his hand and leads him through the crowd and out the back of the barn, the back fields laid out in front of them as teens mill about in groups of twos and threes, smoking and laughing and making out against the trees. David sees a table set up with pyramids of solo cups on each end, and another table with cups in a row on either side, people knocking back shots and trying to flip their cup over in a relay race.

“What the hell is that?”

Stevie’s turning to him with a red funnel in her hand. He’s got no idea where it came from, but he knows it’s not going anywhere near his mouth.

“Beer funnel! You,” she mimes holding the funnel over his head. “And then just kind of open your throat.”

“Well that I can do,” only he’s absolutely not going to, so he hands the contraption back to her. “Ladies first!”

She looks at him for a second and then shrugs, turning to a guy behind her and asking him to hold the funnel for her. The second she’s distracted, David wanders off, making his way from group to group, chasing the smell of skunk weed he’s picking up on the wind.

He finds the group on the far edge of the yard, huddling around a little purple plastic bong. It’s cute, and David’s desperate enough that he doesn’t play coy, asking if he can join them on the next pass. The group looks amongst themselves for a second before one of the guys, a shorter guy with red hair and dark eyes, smiles at him. 

“Sure.” 

“Thank you. You have no idea.”

“Oh, no, we totally do,” pipes up another girl, a thin girl in overalls with a rainbow pin stuck to the front pocket. “The more the merrier.”

David smiles at her sincerely and takes the deepest hit he can, holding it until his eyes water and his lungs burn, but when he lets it out he doesn’t cough and he feels the muscles in his neck begin to relax, feels his kneecaps going liquid in that way he loves. He stays with his new friends for two more passes of the bong, each one held a little longer, a little deeper, until David can feel the warmth of the twinkle lights spread throughout the yard and the music is muffled where he can feel the bass line in his bones. He says thank you to each of them, like, four times, and gives each of them a boop on the nose like he’s seen his sister do. It’s not something that feels like David, but David isn’t really in the mood to feel like himself. 

He wanders back towards the party, and is so so glad that he decided to make new friends because  _ this  _ is a party he can enjoy. And what’s not to enjoy, really? He looks around realizes that he doesn’t see anybody he recognizes, which is strange considering he’s there with about half his high school, but David is used to knowing people without knowing people. He winds between the groups until he’s back inside, and the air in the room is so heavy, is stifling, and he wants to unzip his jacket but he’s the shirt he’s got on is a t-shirt and he’s already had, like, a bajillion drinks and the more he thinks about it the more he can feel the fabric stretching across his body in a way he doesn’t like and nobody needs to see any of that. 

“I need a fucking breeze,” he shouts to no one in particular, catching the attention of the few people standing near enough to hear him.

“Try the hay loft!” says a sweet, thin-faced girl he recognizes from his college algebra class who he’s pretty sure is named Tina or Twyla or something. 

“Oh my god thank you, Tina!”

“It’s Twyla!” she says good naturedly.

“Of course it is,” and he’s got a smile on his face, but really it is  _ so fucking hot  _ that he doesn’t say anything else, just makes his way to the ladder she points to in the opposite corner. It’s tall, and he’s got doubts about his ability to make it all the way up in his current condition, but the minute he steps on the bottom rung he catches the smallest bit of cool breeze and it’s like a magnet. 

He’s repeating ‘left hand, right hand’ to himself, so his brain is too busy to process the voices he’s hearing until it’s too late to stop.

“— does he know you’re doing this?”

He’d know those shoulders literally anywhere. Patrick is standing with his back to David, and he watches as the muscles in Patrick’s back tense, keeps watching as he hears Sebastien’s voice, keeps watching as Sebastien swears at Patrick and holds his camera up in the air.

“Free showing. Early access to the newest exhibit from Sebastien Raine.” David winces and his body goes cold. Because he knows what’s on that camera. There’s not a single doubt in his mind. And the smallest part of his heart breaks, because Sebastien had called him beautiful, and something special, and a piece of magic. Sebastien had looked at him and David had felt seen but he’d also said this was for his portfolio and David had fucking believed him. And he wants to still be staring at the muscles in Patrick’s back, but Patrick’s back is moving now, all of Patrick is moving now, and David almost swallows his tongue when Sebastien’s camera goes tumbling to the ground. 

“I’m — I’m sorry.” Patrick turns and sees David before he can hide, but where is he supposed to go, it’s not like he can make a quick exit down a fucking  _ ladder _ . So he freezes, even as he feels every eye in the room land on him. He wants to disappear, wants to simply blink out of existence, because now they all know, now they’ve all  _ seen  _ and even though he was partly expecting something like this to happen, it still hurts enough to take his breath away. He blinks so quickly he’s convinced he can evaporate the tears in his eyes before they’re even done fully forming. Until Patrick says his name, all quiet and wounded and caring and that’s just too fucking much for David. His body jerks into action and he’s down the ladder as fast as his feet will let him, even missing a rung or too but none of it matters because Patrick is still on his heels and there’s this huge fucking crowd of people and he wants to scream and wants to punch Sebastien and wants to rewind time to that moment when he and Alexis were seven and she got her first grade boyfriend Eric to beat up the guys who kept making fun of David for being afraid of moths. 

Patrick’s hand closes around his bicep and he’s being half dragged, half pushed across the barn and into a corner stall, and it’s dark and it’s sort of quiet but Patrick is there, with his smell and his loud eyes and his hand still on David’s body and it’s all just so fucking much that he throws off Patrick and makes an animal sound in the back of his throat. He wants to curl into a ball and disappear into a corner until everyone leaves and he can transfer schools in peace but they’re not going anywhere, his parents have said so hundreds of times, and besides he’s not going to sit on the fucking  _ dirt  _ anyway. He must look crazy, because Patrick puts his hands in his pockets and backs away like he’s afraid David might hurt him or something.

“What did you see?”

And the thing was, David hadn’t actually seen all that much, but he didn’t need to see it to know it. He could hear the whispers now, knew how they had a habit of filling up the space someone left behind, they way they’d become a creature of their own by Monday. It’s a routine he’s familiar with, and the dread tastes sour on his tongue. 

“Enough,” is all he can say. 

“Sebastien is an asshole.” And David hates himself because his first instinct is to defend Sebastien. Because maybe he is an asshole but he’s a predictable asshole, and really whose fault is it if you poke a sleeping, horny, lying bear? He doesn’t want to look at Patrick but can’t escape that earnest look on his face, so he fidgets and pulls at his sweater and tries to breath through the constant white noise trilling in his brain. 

“They’re his pictures.”

“But it’s your body.”

And oh my god, had Patrick seen? Had he seen them, seen the way he’d laid himself open for Sebastien, because Sebastien had looked at him and said kind things and made David forget for a second that didn’t make you a kind person. “Don’t remind me.”

“This is bullshit, David. What he did was wrong.”

“It’s whatever.” The words taste like ashes in his mouth.

“Stop saying that!”

And then David is pissed. He’s beyond pissed; he’s enraged, and what fucking right does Patrick Brewer have to sit there in any kind of judgement of him?

“It’s not anything worse than anyone else has ever done! It’s, like, seriously fine.” He doesn’t want to be talking about any of this anymore. Where was Stevie? Where was his sister? Where was literally any other human but this sweet, sincere boy watching him break down into a total fucking mess?

“You really think that, don’t you?” Patrick’s soft voice takes some of the wind out of David’s sails, like he’s thrown water on some of the ire filling David’s belly. He’s so unused to anyone like Patrick, someone who slows down when David speeds up, who speaks to a sense of truth or right or good in a way that just pervades the way he exists. It scares him, so he tries to push it away from him.

“Think  _ what _ ?”

“That what he did was ‘fine,’ That you don’t deserve to be pissed off for that totally disgusting thing he just did.” 

David can’t believe that they’re discussing what he “deserves.” Patrick doesn’t know anything about him, anything about the people’s he’s used, or let himself be used by, or fucked over or violated because someone else would like him more if he did. Loathing filled his veins and traveled to every part of his body. His voice, when he spoke, felt heavy and sounded bitter. 

“‘Deserve.’”

“Yes, David. Deserve. You deserve better.” Patrick steps towards him, and David bristles.

“What do you know about what I deserve?! You don’t know me! Why do you care so much anyway?! Who even are you, Mr. Always Nice to Everyone Guy?” He’s pushing, he’s pushing hard and he knows that he if can push just a little harder, Patrick will give up, will walk away, will just leave him the fuck  _ alone  _ so he doesn’t have to look at someone who looks at him with those owl fucking eyes and a smile he can’t quite swallow down. Patrick  _ came to this party with Rachel  _ and he’d defended David’s honor and David couldn’t put those two different facts into a picture of the same person. So he’s pushing because it’s not his circus and they’re not his monkeys and— “

“I don’t know.” 

“What?” He knows he heard Patrick. His brain knows it, is currently processing the words through a haze of anger and shame and alcohol. But it’s not the words he doesn’t understand, it’s the way he says them. Like he’s admitting to not knowing so much more than what they’re talking about. David watches him, watches the way his eyes focus on David’s face. He knows what he looks like; he’s had people tell him his entire life that that his face spoke when his mouth didn’t, but Patrick’s face is like a mask. David holds his breath and wills him to keep talking.

“I don’t know. Why I care. So much. But — but I do care. You shouldn’t let - you don’t - people don’t get to just treat you like that.” 

David’s heart feels too small for his ribcage. He tries to breathe and his chest feels tight. There’s a stupid wetness to his eyes and he can’t unglue his tongue from the top of his mouth. He’s never —  _ never  _ — had someone tell him that he should care about the way other people treat him. His parents weren’t exactly present role models and when they did show up it was far more about being sure he and Alexis didn’t embarrass the Rose family. He’s been looking out for Alexis since she was born, except for all the times she’d had to look out for him, but that was never the kind of thing they’d have a conversation about. David didn’t do  _ feelings _ . 

But that tone is still in Patrick’s voice, like he means what he’s saying to David, and when David does meet his eyes he doesn’t see cruelty, or belittling, or mockery. He sees…something that makes him want to be better. “I’m used to people treating me however they want.”

He hears how small his voice sounds and that  _ thing  _ disappears from Patrick’s eyes and David takes a literal step forward, like he’s trying to physically chase it down. 

“You need better people, then.” 

It sounds so simple coming out of Patrick’s mouth, like finding people to trust with all the broken parts of yourself is an easy thing that you can just go out there and do. Patrick’s mouth is twisted into a shape David’s never seen, a straight line that could be a smile, the dimples in his cheeks making little parenthesis, like his whole face is an addendum to his mouth. The mouth that’s repeating over and over that David deserves more, that he’s worth more, that he needs better people. And Patrick is better people; David wants so badly to believe that Patrick could be his better person. His mind fast-forwards through a reel of Patrick smiling at him, saying kind things to him, teasing him and winking at him and smacking Sebastien’s camera out of his fucking hand.

So David makes a decision, closes the gap between them and brings his hands to the side of that impossibly indiscernible face, runs his thumbs across his cheekbones, and leans in to press his lips to Patrick’s. He wants to believe so desperately that this won’t be the only time this happens, but just in case it is, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to feel every point of contact between his body and Patrick’s. He can feel Patrick’s breath in his lungs, can feel the way his eyes move beneath his own eyelids, can feel the flush of heat that rises to his cheeks. He’s losing track of where he ends and Patrick begins and if this is how it feels just to press their lips together, he’s afraid of what bigger, meaner thing could come next. 

He’s saved having to worry by the choked noise of a human heart breaking. It’s a sound David knows better than he should, and when he looks up, he sees Rachel standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as dinner plates and her brow furrowed in confusion. He pulls away from Patrick like he’s been burned and mumbles something that should be ‘sorry’ but isn’t. He pushes past Rachel, who is still standing in place, stunned, and plows straight into someone wearing Wranglers and a plaid shirt and David’s covered in blue jello and this night truly cannot get any worse. 

He can barely see straight when he pushes through the crowd and out into the back, and he’s gulping down oxygen like he’s literally drowning, which he might be but it’s probably just the panic attack. He needs to find Stevie, needs to get the hell out of there, but when he does all she wants to do is go find Patrick, Patrick, Patrick and he can’t look at Patrick ever again. He can’t look at any of them ever again, he has to go. So he goes, marching across the field until Stevie and someone he doesn’t know catch up to him and point him towards the road and he doesn’t stop but he does slow down. 

He walks down the dark country road until the panic and embarrassment leave his nerves shredded and his muscles heavy. At which point, he sinks against a fence post and into the dirt. The actual godforsaken dirty Earth, and it’s a sign of how much David does not care that he’s even willing to lean against  _ unsanded wood  _ in his knit Alexander McQueen. Stevie sits down next to him and she’s warm against him and she and Emir are flirting so badly it’s painful to listen to. So he sinks down and lays his head in her lap and lets her play with his hair and she doesn’t even make a joke as tears stain her jeans and he slips off into the deadened sleep of the sad and drunk.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Booksmart, which is the movie Woefully Awkward Queer Teen me so desperately needed


End file.
